


Low Nights

by Shirobun



Category: iZombie (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, alcohol use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 16:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7721209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shirobun/pseuds/Shirobun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>38 missed calls. 42 unread texts. 6 weeks.</p><p>Part of Clive had realized Dale was gone for good, but he still couldn't accept it. Maybe, just maybe she'll come back. He knew very well it was a false hope, but just the thought of being able to see her again was all that kept him going. Sometimes, on low nights, his false hope would consume him entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Low Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I have not been able to find a single Bozzineaux fic anywhere on the internet, which is honestly such a shame because Bozzineaux is a great, canon ship. So, I decided to use my sub-par, rusty writing skills to make a simple post-season 2 finale fic with some light angst and possible fluff later on (???). This was meant to be a oneshot, but I got a bit carried away and found myself writing something that would be much better suited as a multiple chapter fic, so here it is! It's my first multiple chapter fic, as well as my first iZombie fic, so enjoy!

_38 missed calls. 42 unread texts. 6 weeks._

Clive had given up by the third week. Not a single response from Dale. Part of him had realized she was gone for good, but he still couldn't accept it. _Maybe, just maybe she'll come back._ He knew very well it was a false hope, but just the thought of being able to see her again was all that kept him going. Sometimes, on low nights, his false hope would consume him entirely.

_6 weeks later, this was one of those low nights._

_10:30pm. Whiskey #2. It had been one of_ those _days._

* * *

That morning Clive woke up with tears in his eyes and flashes of Dale's smile still fresh in his mind. He didn't need to remember the dream to be haunted by it for the rest of the day. His mind was elsewhere; he couldn't focus on anything.

Liv always noticed these days; she tried her best to overcome whatever antics her meal of the day gave her to be there for him. Frankly, without her, it'd be a lot harder to get through them.  Sometimes he wished she'd have a brain sandwich with some good relationship advice, or maybe a motivational speaker, or even just someone blunt enough to tell him to _get over it_. He knew he had to. But _god damn_ , it's so hard.

-

_The whiskey was woodsy and harsh. He swirled it around in the glass before taking another sip._

-

The bad days had gotten less and less frequent as time went on, but that just meant that when they did happen, they hurt even more. Liv had to pull him aside for a moment this time; unfortunately, her nosy photographer brain wasn't exactly comforting.

"Man, if only I could capture that look of despair on your face right now, it'd make for a beautiful portrait. With some low lighting at an angle - "

"Liv," Clive looked at her pleadingly.

"Shit, sorry. It's the brain."              

"I know," Clive sighed. "Is it that obvious?" Liv nodded. He let out a quick breath and shook his head. "Sorry, Liv. I-I," he exhaled. "You know."

Liv patted his arm, looking at Clive sympathetically. "I know, you miss her. She'll turn around."

Clive nodded, appreciating the comfort, if only because he could tell she was struggling to fight the brain's brash personality to comfort him.

-

_Whiskey #3. Was Liv right? Would she really come back?_

_With each sip, the possibility seemed both more plausible and more utterly ridiculous._

-

The last straw came at 4pm. Questioning the victim's ex-boyfriend.

The man, scruffy and disheveled, was in tears the second he heard the news. Clive absolutely _hated_ having to notify people of deaths, but that wasn't the worst part of this interview.

"I- I loved her, you know. We were - we were soulmates, man," the poor guy shook his head. "I can't believe she's..." he trailed off.

Clive gulped. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Liv glancing at him, making sure he was alright.

"So, why'd you break up, then?" Clive's voice was stone.

The man sighed, "She was gone a lot; always traveling for work. I wasn't the best at dealing with her being gone so often. I missed her, but she was so passionate about her work, she wasn't going to drop it all just to be with me more. It led to a lot of arguments, and eventually, we just ended it. Guess you can miss someone _too_ much, huh?" he laughed bitterly.

_Straight to the heart. Ouch._

"She moved on, though," he looked at the floor. "I guess she was better off with someone else."

_Maybe Dale is better off, too._

-

On to Whiskey #4. Clive's face felt warm. He hadn't drank quite enough to be drunk yet, but he was definitely getting there. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he flipped it around in his hand. He opened his texts, straight to his one-sided conversation with Dale. His thumb grazed over her contact picture, a goofy selfie she had taken one of the many times she stole his phone just to spam his camera roll. Once, he even had to chase her around his apartment to get his phone back, ending in a tackle onto the couch and lots of kisses. Clive smiled at the memory, his eyes beginning to feel heavy with tears.

_Shit._

Clive scrolled through the texts he sent her, the most recent ones simply being drunken misspellings of "I love you" and "Please come back", the older ones being long desperate paragraphs attempting to explain himself. At this point, Clive was sure she had changed her number. Yet, with his judgment clouded, the thought of sending yet another forlorn message seemed like a reasonable idea. Or he could call her. _Maybe tonight would be the night._ Quickly downing the rest of his fourth glass of whiskey, his hands were steady as he typed the digits in. _Here's for hoping._

* * *

_Across the country in Virginia, someone seemed to be having an equally terrible night. Tequila was her drink of choice. 1:30am._

Dale didn't drink very often, but recently it had become a staple of her weekly routine.

She looked up at the bartender. "Another double tequila, please."

Maybe it was unfair of her to leave Clive like that. But when she thinks about the way some people treat her at work now because of how quickly her case was dropped, she feels it was entirely justified.

 _Damn, what happened?_ Just as quickly as they had solid cases, they were destroyed. Everything they worked for, _gone._ Their relationship thrown away, and for what? His gut feeling? She knew that was bullshit. He betrayed her, plain and simple. Yet despite it all, she's here at the bar for the second time this week because she misses him, and _it hurts._

The bartender slid the shot glass in front of her. Dale nodded and thanked him quietly.

She listened to every voicemail. They're all basically the same thing: dozens of apologies and "I can explain"s and in a few, an "I love you" and what she swore was him sniffling. That wasn't helping her let go, not that she really wanted to.

Dale threw her head back as she drank the double shot, wincing as it went down.

She wanted to trust him. She wanted to believe he hadn't just left her and all of their hard work behind for nothing. But for what? She knew Clive, he wouldn't leave his work for anything, not even for the end of the world. He wouldn't leave _her._ She still can't imagine why in the world he did it. Sometimes it _kills_ her. Other times, she realizes she may be better off never knowing.

The harsh buzz of  Dale's phone brought her out of her thoughts. She reached for it, laying face down on the bar counter. Turning it over, she gulped as Clive's name and face occupied the screen. Normally, she'd let the phone ring out and never answer. But normally, her mind wasn't clouded by two double tequilas. They were both intensely pining over each other, that was obvious. There weren't many signs of getting better, either. _Maybe this won't hurt._

Sighing, Dale pressed the little green circle and put the phone up to her ear.

"Hey."

The silence on the other end made it clear Clive hadn't expected her to answer.

"I," Clive exhaled. "I didn't think you'd answer."

"Well, I figured the 39th time's the charm."

On the other end, Clive smiled. For a moment, they both forgot they were miles apart and all the reasons why. It didn't take Clive but another moment to remember.

"Look, about the cases, about us, about everything: I can explain, I promise. But you have to come back."

Dale raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so I come back to Seattle and everything clicks into place? Yeah, no. I still have a job, you know." Her voice was sharp. _Maybe this was a mistake._

"No, Dale, please. I- I don't know how to explain. I wish I could. But if you come back, I can _show_ you. I swear, I can. Please believe me. Just for a day."

"You - you do know that you _destroyed_ both of our solid cases against a _murderer_ , right? You remember that part? 'Cause I do." She tried to keep her voice down at the bar, but this was _infuriating._ He just decides to call and ask for her back? After everything he's done to her? _No._ But, what else did she expect from this conversation?

"I," he sighed, "I know, I know. I had a reason to, Dale, I didn't have much of a choice. Please trust me. I wouldn't have done it in any other circumstance, you know that."

"Do I? I don't think I do." Dale's voice was bitter and hostile. "The Clive I knew wouldn't tip off the defense attorney about my witness. The Clive _I_ knew wouldn't flush our case down the fucking toilet for some bullshit feeling. He was _the guy,_ Clive! We both knew it! I told you about the witness, I _trusted_ you," she breathed, "Why?"

The line was silent.

-

Clive closed his eyes as Dale yelled. It felt all too familiar; her voice, harsh and hurt; he could almost see the tears in her eyes again and feel the pound in his chest. He was starting to doubt he could fix this. He exhaled. He was going to _try._

“Dale, I had a reason to do it, I promise. God, if I could have done it any other way,  I would have. I didn’t want to throw it all away, I didn’t want to lose you. A day, 6 hours, that’s all I need. Just please, come back and I can show you. I can explain.”

Dale laughed humorlessly, entirely conflicted. “Clive, I -”

“Dale. This is all I ask, please. I,” he let out a breath, “I love you.”

-

Dale sighed. _Fuck._ She could tell he was desperate. Something in his voice sounded so pitiful, it felt too cruel to just dismiss him. She knew she shouldn't do this. But at the same time, she still wanted to know what made him destroy all they had.

She exhaled. "Clive, just tell me the truth," Dale glanced at the date on her phone.

"Next Saturday. Please, Clive." She quickly hung up before she said anything else.

Dale groaned and rested her head on the bar counter. _What the hell am I doing?_

* * *

Clive was in a daze. He wasn't _that_ drunk, he couldn't have imagined that entire phone call, right?

_Oh my god._

She responded. She accepted. _Next Saturday. That was real._

Now, though, Clive had a different problem. Maybe he shouldn't have promised to show Dale the truth without having a way to do it. He couldn't just ask Liv to stab herself again for the sake of their relationship. Would she even want Dale to know about zombies? He didn’t even have an idea of how to show Dale. _God, Clive, stop digging yourself into holes._

This was enough trouble for the night. He was just one step closer to fixing this.


End file.
